


In the Winter Forest

by GretchenSinister



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister
Summary: Original Prompt: "Because we all know this, or something like it, has happened.One day Pitch is having a merry old time being evil, when he stumbles across Jack Frost having a “bath” in a cold stream. I don’t want Pitch peaking on him (as long as is necessary), but it’s all very awkward, and basically how they meet for the first time (before or after the movie.)"If this was an essay question on an exam and my fill was an answer one of my students wrote, I’d have a hard time grading it because while I’m pleased with it, most of it is (necessary?) spying on Jack and I stop right before things have a chance to get really awkward. Set in a world where Jack getting pulled out of the pond happens not too long after the end of what Pitch calls “the dark ages”.
Relationships: Jack Frost/Pitch Black
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40
Collections: Blackice Short Fics





	In the Winter Forest

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr on 12/5/2014.

Snow crunched under Pitch’s feet as he wandered slowly through the silent forest. The snow was courteous to do so, for had not Pitch faded to less than a shadow in the minds of mortals, now? But the forest, with its black, bare branches arcing across the sky like the burnt bones of some vast, ancient creature, would always have some courtesy for him. The forest and he shared space in the human mind, especially in places like this, at this time of year, far from every path as the nights grew longer and the wolves grew hungrier.  
  
Pitch paused for a moment in the shadow of a huge, gnarled tree, tracing his fingers lightly over the ridges of its bark. The winter forest was so empty of other minds, though. All dryads slept now, and even the winter courts of the fair folk lingered close to the boundaries between the forest and human habitation. They were still feared, and, though not quite believed in, still more welcome than he.   
  
He took a slow breath of the air, so cold it felt hard as crystal in his lungs. The forest and he might share the same magic, but they could share nothing more, and all else remained lost to silence.  
  
Or it almost did.  
  
The soft rush of a stream had barely registered in Pitch’s mind as sound, but the splashes and yelp shattered the silence so thoroughly it seemed as though it might never be put back together.  
  
The voice wasn’t an animal’s, but how could a human have gotten so far into the forest without Pitch noticing? Might it be some wandering fey? But why wander so far, and what could make a fey yelp in distress in such an empty forest?  
  
Pitch hurried toward the stream and the splashing, sliding from shadow to shadow and asking the snow to no longer sound or show his footsteps.  
  
Safely hidden, Pitch looked out from the shadow of a tree. His eyes widened as he took in the figure in the stream. Unlikely as it was, there _was_ a winter fey here. He took the form of a slender, beautiful young man, with bright white hair, bright blue eyes, and very pale, smooth, skin, all of which was visible as he bathed in the stream.  
  
Pitch blinked and shook his head. The creature in the stream was extraordinary even by fey standards, as he was making even Pitch goggle. That would mean that he was powerful, and Pitch knew he was weak enough that this might mean trouble for him.  
  
He turned away reluctantly, and tried to think. There was something strange about this powerful winter boy. If he was so powerful, why was he so far away from any court where he could be seen and adored? Why had he yelped when he entered the cold water? Why—  
  
Pitch, in lifting his gaze to one of the nearby trees, found himself looking at a pair of worn brown pants, a loose wool shirt, and a short cape all hanging from a tree branch. They looked like they would fit the boy. But that was all wrong! The clothes were too plain for a fey not in disguise, and what fey would ever touch fabric so rough, that wasn’t merely glamour? And these clothes, hanging straight down in the still air, looked as real and ordinary as anything Pitch had ever seen.  
  
He peered again at the boy, eyes narrowed. Was this part of some complex fey game, one that Pitch had never seen before? But that was all wrong, too! The fey never made new things, it was their hated weakness. More seemed wrong with the idea with every second Pitch watched.  
  
The boy yelped and shivered with the cold, but the water didn’t leave his skin red and raw like it would have done to a human. Sometimes, too, his shivering seemed just a little too late, as if he was continuously forgetting and then remembering to feel the cold.  
  
Had he been human? Was he a ghost? No, he was no more a ghost than Pitch was. No matter if he forgot that he should be cold, the water never passed through him.  
  
Could he be like Pitch? Like Pitch, but new? Like Pitch, and the Guardians?  
  
He had never seen someone like them so new and so alone, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed right. There were so few spirits like them, that of course he wouldn’t have recognized him at once. He knew Guardians like North did human things without needing to.   
  
Power like theirs, too, would explain why this boy, whose form was really no different than thousands upon thousands of fey and humans, shone like a beacon of beauty to Pitch, as if he was no more than a human himself.  
  
But the boy was not a Guardian, Pitch was sure. And so, alone, he would be more like Pitch than them. Pitch caught himself just in time to stop a sigh. He couldn’t know if he was right, he couldn’t know if he was thinking clearly, with that fantastic creature before him. But if the boy was alone, might he not prefer to have a companion?   
  
It seemed the most obvious thing in the world, to Pitch.  
  
Less obvious, but just as true, did it seem that Pitch should be that companion. The boy was at home in ice and winter, bathing in this lonely forest. As he stepped out of the stream, the water froze in delicate filigree on his skin, unconscious art that made him look inseparable from the woods around him.   
  
Pitch knew he should be in the winter woods, and so should the boy be in the winter woods, and so they should be together.  
  
The argument seemed to him as flawless as the boy’s skin, which he now covered with his lamentable clothing.  
  
The look of joyous surprise when Pitch addressed him directly seemed only to confirm it.

**Author's Note:**

> Tags and Comments from Tumblr:
> 
> #weird did I actually write straight blackice
> 
> miss-evening reblogged this from gretchensinister and added:  
> This was so interesting to read! Waaaaaah, I wanted more! To hear what Jack’s reaction was when Pitch decided to address him, if he was friendly or hostile, and if they later developed any kind of relationship. Well, I guess that’s up for the reader to decide. I like to imagine Pitch here being able to befriend Jack, and give him fancier clothes, and try to spoil him, in order to join an alliance with him… and maybe more. <3
> 
> bowlingforgerbils said: This Pitch reminds me really strongly of Piki. I love all of the imagery, and talk of fae.


End file.
